


field of shadows

by dearestwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, F/M, Forced Marriage, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Slavery, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearestwinter/pseuds/dearestwinter
Summary: After a storm wrecked their ship in the midst of the Summer Sea, Halissa and Emre, two friends who had been forced to flee their home, the city of Stygai in the Shadow Lands, find themselves at the mercy of slavers who take them to Volantis to be sold.And they are... to a khal of the Dothraki.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	field of shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thetormentita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetormentita/gifts).



> I hope you like it darling!

“Lot twenty-four,” the auctioneer announces. He slaps his whip and the woman and man are pushed forward, with their hands shackled by thick chains. “They come from distant lands in the far east. Both are healthy; the woman can be trained as a prostitute, the man as a stablehand or soldier.”

Some of the bidders on the front row look at the pair with interest. She sees an old woman dressed elegantly as befit a noble lady from the Free Cities of Essos discussing something with another younger woman on her right, all the while staring at the slaves out of the corner of her eye. A fat man dressed in a tokar calls for more figs to his slave in Ghiscari while another fans him. More men and women of all shapes and colors and nationalities occupy the seats to the sides of them and beyond, on the second and third and fourth rows.

“Who will open for these two?”

“Five hundred,” the elegant woman raises a finger.

“Six hundred,” calls an orange-haired man from the third row, dressed head to toe in fine silk.

She looks down at her chained hands, lips pressed into a tight line. It is her fault that she and Emre are currently in this situation, standing on an auction block in Volantis, about to be sold into slavery. She looks up, holding her head high in an attempt to seem dignified and avoid looking at her side, to where her friend is, not wanting to see the reproach that she is sure is etched into his eyes.

She stares at the bidders’ faces instead, trying to figure out anything that might help her have a glimpse of what the future has in store for them. She would like to comfort herself with the fact that, should she be bought by the old woman, she wouldn’t have to work as a prostitute. Most likely the woman wants her to scrub the floors of her manse or empty chamber pots. She has no idea how to do either but she will learn, by the whip or not.

It is Emre that worries her. In this strange western land, there is no place for a man to be a household slave. The auctioneer had only mentioned her friend could be trained as a soldier or a stablehand. But since her ship floundered in the storm and they had been ‘rescued’ by the slavers and brought to this busy city called Volantis, she has seen more kinds of slaves in the streets, with flies tattooed on their cheeks collecting dung, or some with squares on their necks, dressed in funny clothing and telling jokes for the amusement of their masters. She had even seen some being carried off and into a ship with cogheads drawn in black ink on their faces. She is not eager to part with Emre, yet she fears that is what will happen soon. Especially when she does not see the old woman bid another higher number, nor  _ any  _ other woman for that matter.

The bid went as high as eleven hundred before it stopped. Some people here must see their worth, most likely the fact that they look exotic enough to be placed in a menagerie. She is aware of what she must look like; her fine white dress and veil that she had been wearing at the time of the storm is gone now, replaced by a simple brown roughspun tunic someone had thrown at her to put on earlier, but even a bit worse for wear by the minor scratches and bruises she had suffered when her ship broke into pieces, she knows she still looks beautiful. Her long black locks and green eyes, her pale skin and considerable height draw the eyes of many of those present.

“Twelve hundred,” bids a relatively young man in High Valyrian with the look of a merchant on him. He is not bad to look upon either, she guesses, yet she still dreads to think what life serving him would entail. She would be willing to endure anything if only Emre would be spared a worse fate; he is highly intelligent, and he could help the merchant count his coins. She had seen a slave with a coin tattooed on his cheek as well so it’s not so far-fetched of a situation.

“Thirteen hundred,” the fat man in a tokar looks smug as he says those words, and the merchant shakes his head sadly. Her hopes start to shatter as she hears the bidding slow, the fat Meereenese beating all the numbers that others put forward for them. The auctioneer yawns as he toys with his whip, and some people, thinking the bidding practically over, start to get up and leave. Desperation runs through her veins at the thought of being sold to this disgusting man, to pleasure him until she gets too old for it and they kill her. Her stomach churns at this, and all rational thought flies right out of her head.

“Wait, my good people,” she half-shouts in High Valyrian, the tongue she was taught by her elders back home as a child and she is grateful now to remember. Most of these people know it, or are just startled by hearing her talk, because they turn their heads to face her.

“Quiet!” the auctioneer hisses, whip coiling dangerously around his hand in an unsubtle warning, but she ignores him.

“We come from the east, that's true” she begins. “The city of the night in the Shadow Lands.” She hears the murmurs between the bidders and smiles, raising her chained hands in what she hopes is a friendly gesture. “We can offer knowledge beyond measure to any man or woman willing to pay good coin for us.”

A crone clears her throat before declaring, “Stygai is a haunted city full of demons. I trust no words coming out of this slave’s mouth.”

“Even shadowbinders fear entering Stygai, it is known,” a man says with a fearful tremble in his voice.

“Us people of the night are no shadowbinders, my good man,” she placates. “But we know many secrets lost to the people of the western lands that could prove helpful to many aspects in life. I say place your bets, and you will not regret it.”

“I’ll place my bet, witch,” the fat Meereenese jeers. “Fourteen hundreds silver coins for you and your fellow to serve in my menagerie along with my other little twisted demons.”

Some of those who were about to leave previously proceed to do so now, whispering to each other agitatedly about unfounded horrors that live in Stygai, the city that only sees the sun for a few minutes at noon. But some of those have stayed, and she is thankful for it.

“Fifteen hundred,” a middle-aged woman with a Volanteene accent says with a flick of her wrist. She puts a prune in her mouth while she looks at the slaves, eyes gleaming with the promise of fun later. The Stygai slave woman smiles at her, thinking she has found the lesser of all devils present, but it quickly falls from her face when she catches sight of a man parting the small crowd that has gathered around the block.

The man is tall, with golden skin and dark eyes and hair. He is dressed in the oddest garments that she has seen so far: a painted brown vest covers his bare chest, bronze and silver medallions adorning his belt. His braided hair chimes softly as he strides forward, followed by a pale silver-haired boy no older than six and ten. When he gets close enough to the auction block, she can see a long curved blade hanging from his side.

He spits some words at the auctioneer in a rough tongue that makes her wince slightly, and the silver-haired boy translates for him. “This is Ko Navvo, bloodrider to Khal Maeko of the Dothraki,” he announces. “He wants to offer twenty hundred pieces of silver for the slaves currently on auction.”

The strange man called Ko Navvo says something else while nodding with his head to her. “This humble slave has translated your words to Ko Navvo, and he wants to tell you that Khal Maeko will be pleased to hear the knowledge you will share with him.”

She doesn’t know what to say to this so she only nods. She dares to look into Emre’s blue eyes finally, finding no hate in them as she had feared she would find, and she knows that he has her back from now on, into what’s going to be their new life with the Dothraki people they know nothing about.

“If there are no more bids,” the auctioneer’s words hang on the air, and are met with silence. “You are sold for twenty hundred silvers to Ko Navvo of the Dothraki.” She and Emre are led down the steps of the block more carefully now that they have an owner. “Lot twenty-five! A seasoned sailor from Westeros. Who will open for him?”

They are escorted through the Long Bridge the way they came, with the difference that they are now walking instead of riding in a cage thrown by mules. They cannot keep up with Ko Navvo’s long strides, so she and Emre and the silver-haired translator fall quite a few steps back, but the latter knows where to go. She had hoped they would be led to an inn, that strange place where people pay for a room to sleep in. That’s where the slavers had taken them when they had disembarked at the port of Volantis, but they had not been allowed a bed to sleep in, only a place in the corner along with other four sailors that had survived the wreck of their ship. They had been sold to  _ other  _ ships, this time with cogheads already tattooed on their cheeks by the time they had set foot on the auction block.

Instead, they walk and walk through the streets of Volantis. She sees the Black Walls she had come to know about from the lips of one of the sailors back at the inn, made of fused black stone that reminds her of Asshai and home. Behind them she knows that the old nobility of Volantis resides, never mingling with the people on the western side. When she turns her head, the sun setting behind the city is a blood-red blotch, casting everything around in reddish-orange hues. She longs for her home back in Stygai, even if she has never seen a sunset there, only the sunrays breaking through the top of the mountains, too weak to even warm your face. She allows herself to think of this brief moment as beautiful, the last that she will enjoy before she and Emre are sent to serve these Dothraki folk.

“Halissa?” Emre whispers beside her, eyes fixed on the silver-haired man before them. “What do you think of them?”

She knows what he means. “Whatever the Dothraki might do to us, Atanke will give us strength to endure it.”

“I take your word for it, my lady,” Emre says, squeezing her hand in silent support. She will need it the most now, as will he.

By the time they reach the outskirts of the city, night has already fallen. This is what hers and Emre's eyes are used to, so they do not need to even look where they step. That is not the case for Ko Navvo and the silver-haired translator, which they had learned comes from Lys, one of the Free Cities located on an island. Ko Navvo lights up a torch, guiding them through a wide path made of the same fused stone as the Black Walls, until he takes a turn to one side. 

In the distance there are a few sparse trees, and the Dothraki makes his way to them, followed close by the slaves. Tied to the trees are two animals, four-legged big brown things feeding on the grass growing tall from the ground around the trunks. 

Halissa sees Ko Navvo approaching her, and she takes a step back, but the man has none of it. He grips her forearm tightly and yanks to bring her close to himself, taking a key out of the pocket of his breeches with the other hand. He opens the lock of her chains, and they fall to the ground with a loud  _ clank _ . She turns her head at the same noise coming from her side, where the Lysene translator had done the same to Emre's chains. 

Halissa's eyes widen slightly as she watches Ko Navvo untie the biggest of the animals and easily jump onto its back. The Lysene follows suit on the other animal's back, albeit less agile than the Dothraki. The latter stares down at her with those sharp dark eyes, and offers a hand to her. 

She has no choice but to take it. 

**Author's Note:**

> The adventure has started! In the second chapter, you'll get more of Halissa and Emre's backstories.
> 
> Please tell me what you think of this first chapter in the comments, they will help me a lot to keep writing :)


End file.
